It appeared to Bosch that once he was in the United States, Sluchek started showing leadership skills and had moved Santos out of the picture in the California operation. He assumed that if the man pulled that morning from the Salton Sea was identified, he would have a history similar to Sluchek’s.
The report concluded that Sluchek was most likely still connected to the Bratva and reported to and contributed profits from the California operation to a pakhan, or boss, back in Minsk who had been identified as Oleg Novaschenko.
Bosch closed the file and thought about the chain of events that resulted in the Esquivels’ being executed in their place of business and people like Elizabeth Clayton being literally enslaved in the desert. The seeds were planted thousands of miles away by faceless men of greed and violence. Bosch knew that people like Novaschenko and the men between him and Sluchek would never pay for their crimes here, and that their operation, though down now, would rise again in another spot with other sixes stepping up and showing their leadership skills. The men who fired bullets into José Esquivel Jr. and his father were dead, but the justice gained was small. Bosch could not bring himself to take part in a press conference to laud the quick closing of the case. Some cases were never closed.
Bosch put the file on a shelf behind his chair, where he put the cases he believed he had worked to the extent of his ability and reach.
He turned back to the desk and went to work on the computer, attempting to locate Dina Skyler. Using the department computer to further his own private investigations had been forbidden when he had first come to work in San Fernando. But once he built an impressive record of closing cases, that rule was treated with a wink and a nod. Valdez and Trevino wanted to keep him happy and in the office as often as possible.
The search didn’t take long. Dina was still alive and still in L.A. She had gotten married and her last name was now Rousseau. The address on her current driver’s license placed her on Queens Road above the Sunset Strip.
Bosch decided to go knock on her door.
Part Three
The Intervention
36
Bosch got to Union Station by 8:15 Wednesday morning. He parked in the short-term lot in front and went inside to wait for his daughter. Her train was only ten minutes behind schedule, and when they connected in the vast central waiting area, she had no baggage with her and only carried a book. She explained that her plan was to take a train back down to San Diego after the court hearing — unless Bosch needed her to stay. They ate crepes — her choice — at the station for breakfast before crossing Alameda and walking through the plaza by the El Pueblo de Los Ángeles on their way into the civic center. There, the monolithic Criminal Courts Building stood like a tombstone at the top of a rise.
They split up at the main entrance so Bosch could enter through the law enforcement pass-through because of his weapon. He showed his badge and made it through a solid ten minutes ahead of Maddie, who had to inch her way through the metal detector at the public entrance in a long line. They made up for the lost time by hopping onto an employees-only elevator and riding up to the ninth floor and Department 107, the courtroom at the end of the hallway, where Judge John Houghton presided.
The Preston Borders case was not scheduled to be called until ten a.m. but Mickey Haller had told Bosch to get to court early so they could discuss last-minute details and maneuvers. Bosch appeared to be the first person on his team to arrive. He sat in the back row of the gallery with his daughter and watched the proceedings. Houghton, a veteran jurist with a shock of silver hair, was on the bench, going through a calendar call of other cases on his docket, getting updates and scheduling further hearings. There was also a video crew setting up a pool camera in the jury box. Haller had told Bosch that so many local news stations had requested access to the hearing following the Times story that Houghton had specified that one randomly chosen crew could record the hearing and then share the video feed with the others.
“Is he going to be here?” Maddie whispered.
“Who?” Bosch asked.
“Preston Borders.”
“Yes, he’ll be here.”
He pointed to the metal door behind the desk where the courtroom deputy sat.
“He’s probably in a holding cell back there now.”
Bosch realized by her first question that she might have a fascination with Borders, the unrepentant death row killer. He second-guessed his allowing his daughter to come.
Bosch looked around. While Houghton was not the original judge on the Borders case, Department 107 was the original courtroom, and it looked to Bosch like it hadn’t been updated in the intervening thirty years. It was 1960s contemporary design, like most of the courthouses in the county. Light wood paneling covered the walls, with the judge’s bench, witness stand, and clerk’s corral all part of one module of sharp lines and faux wood. The great seal of the State of California was affixed to the wall at the front of the courtroom, three feet above the judge’s head.
The courtroom was cool, but Bosch felt hot under the collar of his suit. He tried to calm himself and be ready for the hearing. The truth was, he felt powerless. His career and reputation were essentially going to be in Mickey Haller’s hands and their fate possibly determined over the next few hours. As much as he trusted his half brother, passing the responsibility to someone else left him sweating in a cold room.
The first familiar face to enter the courtroom belonged to Cisco Wojciechowski. Bosch and his daughter slid down the bench and the big man sat down. He was as dressed up as Bosch had ever seen him, in clean black jeans and matching boots, an untucked white collared shirt, and a black vest with stylized swirls of silver thread. Bosch introduced his daughter and then she went back to reading her book, a collection of essays by a writer named B. J. Novak.
“How you feeling?” Cisco asked.
“One way or another, it will all be over in a few hours,” Bosch said. “How’s Elizabeth?”
“She had a rough night, but she’s getting there. I got one of my guys watching her. Maybe if you can, you could come by and see her. Encourage her. Might help.”
“Sure. But when I was there yesterday, it looked like she wanted to use my head as a battering ram on the door.”
“You go through big changes in the first week. It will be different today. I think she’s about to crest. It’s an uphill battle and then there’s a point where you’re suddenly going down the other side of the mountain.”
Bosch nodded.
“The question is, what happens at the end of the week?” Cisco said. “Do we just cut her loose, drop her off somewhere? She needs a long-range plan or she won’t make it.”
“I’ll think of something,” Bosch said. “You just get her through the week and I’ll take it from there.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Did you ever find anything out about the daughter? She still doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I found out. Daisy. She was a runaway. Got into drugs in junior high, ran away from home. Was living on the street down in Hollywood and one night she got in the wrong car with somebody.”